The Golden Specific (45 page)

 46 

Leaving Prison

“T
HEO
! T
HEO
!” S
OMEONE
was calling him, but he had difficulty waking from the dream in which he knelt by the prison window, watching the grass outside grow thicker and thicker until it extinguished all the light beyond. The prison cell was dark, and he had trouble waking without the prodding of the sun.

He opened his eyes and saw at once that there were several people standing at the barred door. He sat up. Some part of him, even while he slept, had recognized the voice. “Shadrack?” he asked uncertainly.

“Yes—it's me,” came the reply.

“They let you out!” Theo got to his feet. In the dim corridor, he saw Shadrack, Miles, Mrs. Clay, Nettie, and Winnie all
clustered at the entrance to his cell. A slow smile crept over his face. “It's good to see you,” he said, surprised by how his voice caught. He reached out through the bars to embrace Shadrack.

Miles, his face pressed between the bars, gave him a hug. “Likewise, my boy.”

Mrs. Clay, overcome with emotion, was silent as she reached through to pat Theo's arm. Nettie gave him a cool kiss on the cheek. Winnie, not to be deterred, reached through the bars and solemnly hugged Theo around the waist. Theo laughed, tousling the boy's hair and kneeling to return the embrace. “Come to join me, then? There's plenty of room.” Winnie gave a little sigh. “Hey, it's not so bad!” Theo said with another laugh. “They sentenced me yesterday—only two months in this confounded place. A bit more than you had to put up with, though,” he said with a smile for Shadrack and Miles. “Tell me, how'd you get out?”

“The case against Bertram Peel moved very quickly,” Shadrack said. “He gave a full confession, and his knowledge of details from the case that were never disclosed by the police made the proceedings very fast. Fortunately, Mrs. Clay's trial was even faster.”

Theo immediately looked to her.
“Mrs. Clay?”

“Concealing evidence, my dear.” She sniffed. “Nothing serious. Just a little fine, and well worth it.”

He shook his head, smiling once more. “What about Broadgirdle?”

“Off scot-free!” Miles burst out with frustration.

“I thought as much,” Theo said calmly. He had accepted that Broadgirdle would somehow pin the murder on Peel.

“He claims he knew nothing about it,” Miles fumed, “and that Peel acted with the Sandmen of his own initiative—an effort to curry favor. And, curse him, there is no evidence proving otherwise.”

“Broadgirdle will remain as prime minister?”

The little group was silent. Shadrack nodded. “I am afraid so.”

Theo clasped the bars. “Broadgirdle is a Sandman. He has the scars. I saw them myself. Doesn't that prove he's tied up with this?”

“Nettie and Winnie told us,” Shadrack said slowly. “But I'm afraid it doesn't change anything.”

Theo noticed that all of them were avoiding his gaze; they looked at the floor, the cell, everywhere but at him. There was something else, he realized, they had not yet told him. “What is it?” Shadrack looked at him anxiously—almost with pity. Theo felt an unexpected tremor of nervousness. “Tell me what it is,” he demanded.

“The war in the west that Broadgirdle has begun . . .” Shadrack faltered.

“Yes?”

“New Occident has almost no army to speak of,” Shadrack tried again. “Broadgirdle made a call for enlistment, but he has also conscripted . . .” He swallowed. “He has conscripted the prison population of New Occident. It will be announced today—this morning.”

Theo stared at him, not comprehending, though the words were clear enough. “Conscripted?” he echoed.

“He's sending the prisoners to fight the war, Theo,” Miles said, his voice coldly furious.

Theo was silent. Winnie reached through the bars and took Theo's hand, looking up at him with the most bewildered, forlorn expression Theo had ever seen. He smiled. “Don't worry. You think I'm going to stand there in a uniform while someone throws bullets at me? Not likely. First chance I'll be gone”—he snapped his fingers—“like that.”

“Yes, we knew you would say that. But the penalty for desertion is death,” Mrs. Clay cried. She buried her face in her handkerchief. Mrs. Clay's outburst was apparently contagious, because Nettie began sniffling and Miles had to turn away and give a series of loud, throat-clearing coughs.

“That's if they can catch me,” replied Theo.

“You would not be able to return to New Occident,” Shadrack said tightly.

Theo hesitated. Then he glanced down again at Winnie's face, now tear-stained, and grinned. “Well, can't do that, then. But don't worry about me. I'll be fine. This war will be over before we know it.”

“I hope it will,” Shadrack said. “And I will do everything in my power to ensure it happens.”

“You are staying at the ministry?” Theo asked, surprised. “Even with Broadgirdle as prime minister?”

Shadrack looked stricken. “Broadgirdle has . . .” And, again, he swallowed. “He has suggested I stay on in the new
government. Something to do with who I was in the Age of Verity. A war map maker.”

Theo's eyes narrowed. “He has twisted your arm.”

“No, no,” Shadrack said too quickly. “It is true that I can do more good in the ministry than in my study at East Ending. And there's the Eerie.” He shook his head. “The rule map tells us what happened, but not where. I feel it is my duty to find them.”

“What about Sophia?”

“The pirates came to Boston Harbor on June nineteenth and left word that they would depart immediately for Seville, but I have heard nothing else. Miles wishes to sail at once for the Papal States.”

“Wouldn't it be better to wait for them?”

“I cannot make up my mind,” Shadrack said, passing a hand over his forehead. “I am sick with worry, but I do not see how Miles can reach Seville before Calixta and Burr . . .”

“I think we should wait,” Mrs. Clay said quietly.

“And I have decided that I will sail at once,” Miles said, having recovered himself sufficiently to deliver this verdict.

“As you see,” Shadrack told Theo with a wry smile, “we cannot make up our minds collectively, either.”

The sharp trill of a whistle rang through the stone corridor, and the group turned as one to watch the approach of several prison guards. Theo's cell near the end lay farthest from where the head guard stood, whistling once more before beginning his announcement.

“Prisoners of Ward One, come to attention.” He paused,
and from behind the fifty barred doors of Ward 1 came a dull scuffling and clanging and a few complaints—a few more rude retorts—before the guard cut in again. “You have been called to serve your nation. By order of Prime Minister Gordon Broadgirdle, you will be taken from this place of incarceration and trained for combat in Camp Monecan. Any prisoner unfit for combat duty will be reassigned by the Minister of War. Prisoners, place your hands through the bars so that they are clearly visible. We will be coming through to lead you from your cells.”

The end of the guard's announcement was met with such a din of protest from the prisoners that Theo could hardly hear his friends' good-byes. The inmates shouted and rattled the bars and taunted the guards, who placidly walked from cell to cell, placing handcuffs on the outstretched arms of willing prisoners and, where necessary, wielding their batons to ensure compliance. “Good-bye, Theo,” Shadrack said, embracing him through the bars. “We will get you out of this mess.”

Theo nodded. “Don't worry about me,” he said. “I'll be all right. Find the Weatherers. And find Sophia.”

Shadrack nodded and turned away, his face distraught.

Reaching through the bars, Miles wrapped Theo in a bear hug and said in his ear: “It's kind of you to put on a good show for us, Theo. You've got more nerve than any man I know. I admire you, my friend.” He pounded Theo roughly on the back and then pulled away, wiping his eyes hastily with his fist.

The guards were making faster progress through the corridor than Theo had expected. They were halfway down, though
the noise was only growing greater. “Good-bye, my dear boy,” Mrs. Clay said tearfully. As she embraced Theo, her sobs became uncontrollable. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” she said. “You're being so brave, but I just can't—” She pulled him closer. “Please be careful.”

Nettie, who had veered sharply from tears to outrage, hugged him and then shook his hand firmly. “Thank you for coming to see me,” Theo said with a crooked smile, “even though I sort of lied to you about who I am.”

“I've not forgiven you yet,” Nettie replied primly. “You'll have to come back soon and make it up to me.”

Theo took her arm. “You're going to stay on the case, aren't you?” he asked in a low voice.

“Of course,” she whispered.

“Then you should know something about Broadgirdle. You heard what I said in his office.”

“I heard everything. I remember.”

“His real name is Wilkie Graves. Might help.”

Nettie's eyes narrowed. “You really should have told me earlier,” she hissed.

Theo smiled. “Be careful. He's much worse than he looks.”

He crouched down to say good-bye to Winnie, but the boy seemed unwilling to come any closer. He stood a few feet away, watching the guards and the raging inmates with evident horror. “Hey, Winnie,” Theo called. He reached out for the boy's hand. “Come over here. Say good-bye to me properly.”

Winnie reluctantly came closer. “I don't want to say good-bye.”

“I know. But hey, look on the bright side. Good thing it's me and not you they're sending off. Wouldn't want to see you out there in the Indian Territories with a pistol!”

Winnie shook his head. He looked at Theo sullenly, and suddenly the tears spilled from his eyes. “I'm so sorry,” he said, gulping over the tears. “I should have gotten there sooner. I should have broken in myself. I don't know why I didn't. It was so stupid. Stupid. I'm so sorry, Theo.”

Theo felt a painful tug in his throat. Winnie wiped a dirty hand across his eyes with frustration and grief. Theo saw, with sudden illumination, how like him the little boy was—not only because he lived by his wits and took care of himself, but also because having to take care of himself had convinced him that he was older in the world than he really was. He was so certain that the evils around him were his to avert, his to live with if he could not avert them. Winnie could not fathom that those evils would exist, whole and terrible in their consequences, even if he did not.

And to think I was younger than he is now. I could do nothing. I could no more have stopped Graves's slaving than Winnie could stop this war.
Theo felt a pulse of heartbreak for the torment it had caused his younger self to take such a burden, then a wave of compassion for the boy he had been, the boy who stood before him now. If only someone could have told him then what he now saw so clearly:
You are blameless. Forgive yourself.

“Look,” Theo insisted, pulling Winnie toward him by the hand. He drew him in so that no one else could hear. “This is
not your fault. I would have landed here one way or another. You understand?” Winnie nodded, but did not look up. “Winnie, look at me.” Reluctantly, he did. “Even if you only did good things every day, every moment of your life, bad things would still happen.”